


I'm sorry.

by To_Matt_Oh



Category: Dear Evan Hansen - Pasek & Paul/Levenson
Genre: Gen, I'm Sorry, here we go again with my experimental vent writting, i guess this is sad, no proofread, read responsibly, uh, you get what you get
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-22
Updated: 2018-03-22
Packaged: 2019-04-06 08:17:21
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 680
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14052774
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/To_Matt_Oh/pseuds/To_Matt_Oh
Summary: This is not great but I had the urge to write it so yeah. Things can trigger up a teen, oops.





	I'm sorry.

"... You didn't washed the dishes, Connor." The woman spoke with a soft, hurt voice. "I- I just asked you to do that little thing, son... It wasn't that hard, I could even have done it myself." She continued, her hands awkwardly gripping to the hem of her beautiful cardigan.

The silence was unbearable. She hated it. She longed for the old times, the old days when the house would never be silent, when at least the constant childish screams and noises where laughs. But now everything was silence.

She swallowed loudly, shakily brushing a streak of gray hair out of her face, mixing it back into her ginger mane. Stress and grieve had been sucking her youth out in the last years. "You were... very mean too." She cotinued, her ears replaying her son's growling at her a sharp 'Shup up! Don't tell me what to do! Fuck you!' over and over. It had became the only thing he ever said to either Larry or her, and it was always followed by heavy steps and a door violently shutting. It made her heart hurt.

"But..." She hiccuped, covering her mouth as the crying started to intensify. "I'm sorry..." She whispered. "I'm sorry." The woman started to shake, remembering how Connor used to be before this dreading illness started taking her son away. Destruying him completely until all left was a shell. A stranger. And the guilt started to build up. She watched him disappear, unable to help her son, neglecting her daughter in the process. She tried to be the good cop, balancing out Larry's hardness. It never worked.

'Connor, stop punching the walls or I'll show you what a real punch is!' The man would yell, and Connor would groan. 'Larry!' She would interrupt. 'Don't menace him, I won't let you hit any of my kids.'She'd state. 'That's the problem.' He'd say angrily. 'They're spoiled. They don't respect us because you keep erasing my autoriy, Cynthia.'

'What's that? Show me your arm.' Larry would groan as soon as Connor decided to wear short sleeves. 'You're cutting again?! Quit that bullshit! You know that's not the way to get our attention, you idiot.' Connor would yell then: 'I don't want your fucking attention! Shove it up your ass and leave me alone!!' And as soon as he flipped his father off he'd recieve a loud slap. 'He's cutting his stomach too.' Zoe would add from the breakfast table, trying to fucus on some school work while all that madness continued. She'd only receive an agry glare from her brother, and then he'd stomp away.

'Your mother asked you something, Connor.' Larry groaned without even lifting his eyes from the newspaper, and the teenager ignored him too. 'Just wash those stupid dishes, it won't kill you!' He had snapped, and Connor shoot him the most daring glare he had ever sported. 'Guess what will.' He said in a calmer voice than Cynthia had expected, and thus, he left the house.

The woman whimpered, years worth of yellings and aggressivity, and failed attempts to reach out replaying mercilessly behind her eyes, in her ears, making her skin crawl.

"I only asked you... to wash the dishes..." she whispered in a broken voice. "I didn't told you... how much we love you, Connor." Her breath hitched and she considered stopping. "Everyone... Even Zoe... Even your dad... And I-... didn't told you how hard we were trying to help." Her face was damped now, and her eyes couldn't help but examine the all too familiar name, carefully embeded into the cold marble. 

After the funeral, Larry had washed the dishes without saying a single word, but he still refused to visit his son. 'He's dead, Cynthia, let him go.' He'd mumble ever so lowly. It had been a year, and he wouldn't dare walking nearby the graveyard. 

"I'm sorry." She whispered again, hands caressing the cold surface of his birth date. "We tried... We thought it was enough... But it wasn't." a sour chuckle left her lips. She should've known better. "It wasn't."

**Author's Note:**

> This is not great but I had the urge to write it so yeah. Things can trigger up a teen, oops.


End file.
